sometimes i cry myself to sleep at night

“You’re so lucky” I hear it all the time. But what am I lucky exactly about? Lucky to be crying myself to sleep at night? Lucky to be full of anxiety all the time? Lucky to hurt? there is nothing lucky about being in a long distance relationship, specially one where your loved one is deployed. Worrying becomes a daily thing, there are times where weeks go by before they even get a chance to call you, and sometimes life happens and for whatever unfortunate reason you miss their call and that feeling of dread kicks in. It’s constantly looking at your phone checking for their emails, for anything that they could send you…I guess in a sense I am lucky. Lucky to have met him, lucky to be loved by him, lucky to have someone to miss, someone to love..But I am unlucky because I don’t get to hold him when I want, I don’t get to call him when something good happens, when something bad happens, I don’t get to kiss him goodnight or watch the sunrise with him. Waiting is a big part of my life. Patience is another.
Insomnia - Part 1

Description: Camila can’t sleep. One name keeps her awake every night for months. It even did before she left Fifth Harmony. But, if before this name was a nice distraction to her insomnia, now it’s drowning her soul in a nice bath at 12 am. The young woman knows there’s only one way to soothe her pain. So she takes her phone and dials a number she learned by heart: Lauren’s.

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Sometimes I just want to cry myself to sleep. To cry until I’m at the brink of my own existence, until my tears start to choke me and clog my throat. I would let myself sink into the drowsy feel. But then I remember you. You’d comfort me until my tears are gone. You would make me forget about the stone in my chest and all the nights I spent drowning in sorrow. God, the things I’d give to be back in your arms add up to infinity. I wish you were here.

We back to home!|05.01.2017.

Hi there! What’s up? :)

We got back to home the day before yesterday, but I did’t have time to post something, I think you understand.
However, I’m here now, Henry is asleep, and I can write.

First I want to say thank you very much for all the congratulations! It’s very nice, and we appreciate it.
Our 6-days-old babe does very well. He is a calm boy, and doesn’t cry much.
Nights with the baby are not so easy, I mean, we don’t get enough sleep. I get up about 5-6 times at night to feed the him (sometimes, I get really tired, so Jean goes to him myself and give milk from milkpump).
But I’ve been through this with the girls already, so I’ll overcome it! :)

Well,  he is like like a normal newborn does: eats and sleeps usually.
He get up every two hours, for get a milk.
In one of my answers I told how the girls met Henry (I’ll show the pics later separately). Basically, Mary most often with him. Even when he is sleeping, she sits nearby and can read to him something. Seriously, that’s too cute! ;–;

And yes, I didn’t even have a 40 weeks update, because he was born right on time! April 25th, right that day, as the doctor told us :)

Tomorrow my friend and his godmother will come to get acquainted with him. Her daughter will come too, to play with the twins and of course, see Henry. So, expect new post in the soonest time!

It was all for today!
Have a wonderful day/night,

You know, I don’t understand when people tell me to just “ignore them” or “walk away” when I encounter bigots and terfs, both online and in real life. Yes, arguing with these people is usually frustrating, triggering, annoying, and painful. It taxes my mental health. But I can’t just let them go without any repercussions every time.

Yeah, I do take my mental health into consideration and sometimes I do walk away. But rarely.

I don’t just do it for my own benefit. I don’t do it to make myself feel better. I do it for my trans siblings.

For the black trans men and women and nonbinary people who have an even higher chance of violence committed towards them or being murdered, because with my white privilege I am less likely to be killed.

For the closeted trans kids who have to sit by while they listen to their shit parents talk about trans people like they’re monsters and cry themselves to sleep at night for fear of being ostracized.

For the disabled trans people who are ignored and looked down upon simply because they are considered childlike or unable to make their own desicions, even though they can identify their gender just like any able bodied person.

For the mentally ill people who are too traumatized to subject themselves to constant scrutiny, and are stereotyped into having a “transgender mental illness”.

I do it for my brothers, my sisters, and my nonbinary siblings. And I will continue to do so until they are safe. No matter how long that takes.

Celeborn: I want to know why you never invite me over to visit Rivendell, Elrond?

Elrond: You are my father-in-law. You know you are always welcome.

Celeborn: Gandalf visits quite often, I understand. He always seems to come to Rivendell. Never to Lothlórien or Mirkwood.

Elrond: I do not know why he will not visit Lothlórien, Celeborn, but we all know of Mirkwood. Such darkness lurks within.

Celeborn: Yes, I know. Thranduil can be rather frightening.

Elrond: I was referring to the curse Sauron put upon his kingdom.

Celeborn: So was I.

Thranduil: Yes, I am so horribly cursed with good looks, perfect hair, fabulous clothes, awesome weapons, fierce elven guards defying the laws of physics and an army of elves in golden armor. I have to settle for riding a majestic elk. How can I go on with the curse of being the Elven King of the Woodland Realm? I mean, my son is a Prince! My poor Legolas has to live with the shame of being the son of a king. Why could he not have had an all powerful tree lord for a father? We are cursed to live within a cavernous mountain palace with endless and elaborately carved halls named after me? You are so lucky. Living in a tree with a walking lightbulb that never seems to get electrocuted playing in a bird bath. I cannot tell you how many nights I wish I could cry myself to sleep wishing I had your life. Not your obvious lack of fashion sense. Just your life.

100% honest mom thought.

I’m probably gonna get hate for even posting this, but hey, whatever. I’m a damn good mother and I know that. But I’m just gonna say it… Sometimes, I don’t want to ‘mom’. Sometimes I just don’t. Some days I wake up to a whiny crying infant, at 6 am, when the day before she slept until 9 am, and I want to rip my hair out. Sometimes, I just don’t want to sit at home all day with a baby. Sometimes, I just wanna go to the movies with my fiancé, or go to a fun party with friends on a friday night, or god forbid, I want to actually drink MORE than 1 glass of wine on occasion, and actually FEEL a buzz. Sometimes I want to go to bed before midnight, and sleep until 10 am the next day, and make myself a big beautiful breakfast and eat it…. WARM! Wow, what a thought. Some days, I just dont. Want. To. Mom! So shoot me, call me what you want, but that’s how I feel some days! But guess what? That little baby is my world, and I’m gonna keep mom-ing until the day I die! Even if it’s not my favorite thing every second of every day!

I’m still trying to convince myself that im a better person when I’m high, but the truth always finds a way back to me
And when the drugs are gone, and the day is done I can still feel the sadness lingering.

I wanted a life of substance but I always get lost in the substances.

Shaking, crying, aching for another line
Wanting the rush, the dope, just one more time
Dry mouth, pounding heart, weight loss, just losing another part
Of my soul
Sleepless nights, dizzying heights of high
Dangerous decisions, damaged minds.

And coming down feels a lot like when you left
Sweating, bawling, temper short
Puking, tremors, a sickness I cant thwart
Sleeping 20 hours, trying to heal
Sometimes i just can’t deal

And I can lie to myself until the very end
Until my final moments come and go around the bend
But the truth is,
I’ll just never make amends.

an empty road lies ahead
as we drive into a smog covered infinity,
waiting for anything else than charcoal paint
to coat the time surrounding me.

but suddenly, i can see, i can see
colours emerging from the fog:
mountains rising up from the dirt,
picking up the clouds in their ascent;
trees growing vivid leaves,
lining the road like some sort of light signal
guiding us to a new haven.

in the blink of an eye,
mountains turn into skyscrapers,
higher than they ever were,
this time, shooting for the stars;
forests become crowds,
dense with cigarette smoke
and wonder.

i wander around these streets,
hand in hand with the most hope
i’ve had in weeks,
watching the world spin
round and round.

a whole avenue dedicated
to stories deserving to be told,
to be heard and listened to
by temporary passerby,
searching for even more
ephemeral euphoria.

you and i are kindred souls,
center of the universe;
built on unstable waters,
we thrive off beauty.
i find myself lost
in your melodies, hues,
softness.

city lights, night lights,
almost like a second sunset,
painting my body gold;
or sometimes, a second sunrise,
dazzling my bedsheets silver.

so, city that never sleeps,
city of dreamers and romantics,
am i good enough for you?

                 -

you decide to steer me home
the day your skies decide to cry,
for i cannot see you
in any other state than sunlit;
your glass stained by anything else
than star light.

an empty road lies ahead
as the one behind is filled
with love for a fleeting moment,
a city that isn’t mine,
my paramour.

-new york city

Emotional Abuse Is Still Abuse

I’ve made some posts about this before, but as I’ve just recently been put in a position where I was forced to relive some of my emotional abuse, I decided it was time to make a new post about a factor of emotional abuse I have not previously talked about. And before I start, I would like to make it quite clear that I am in no way discrediting any other type of abuse. I am just speaking from the heart about my personal experience with the type of abuse I have experienced.

Emotional abuse is often made out to be solely in the victim’s mind, because emotional evidence is apparently not the same as physical evidence. You can’t see the scars left by emotional abusers because they are emotional. I can’t pull my sleeve up to reveal bruises or cuts. But I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and cry myself back to sleep because of the mental scars that my emotional abuser gave to me.
For years I tried to get out of my abusive situation, but as I was a child and had no physical evidence of my abuse, few people believed me. And those few that did couldn’t do anything about it.
Once I hit 10, though, and started getting extreme panic attacks to the point of not being able to leave the house, people started to take notice. It took me years of therapy and coping techniques to even start to get better. And even though I’m doing much better now, after years of trying to cope, I still get panic attacks and depression and cry in the middle of the night when there’s no one to hear me. Which brings me to my main point: Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

It wasn’t until very recently that I identified my symptoms as C-PTSD. I always knew that some of it must be related to my abuse, but I blamed most of it on genetics, as my family has a history of mental illness, and I did have the anxiety disorder when I was very young before the abuse affected me too much. But recently I was put in a situation where I was forced to face my abusive past, and I had a panic attack so bad I could’ve been ten again. Not to mention the flashbacks and depression that came with it. I talked to someone I’m very close to about it and she related the episode to a fictional character with PTSD.
After that conversation I did some research on PTSD, and I realized that so many of the things I’d learned to live with, so many of the things I’d convinced myself were just in my mind, were really symptoms of (complex) post traumatic stress, which was something I had convinced myself I couldn’t have because I was not physically abused.
Physical abuse is a horrible, horrible thing, I am in no way discrediting this. But emotional abuse is just as valid, and can cause some of the same mental and emotional problems, and in our society I feel that that is something that is often overlooked. We teach victims of mental and emotional abuse that their experiences are invalid because they can’t show you a scar that’s on their body to prove that they’re in pain.
So if anyone ever opens up to you and tells you that they have been abused, in any way shape or form, don’t question them, don’t make them show you proof, or explain their experiences if they don’t want to. Because if they opened up to you and told you that they were abused, that means that they trust you. So just listen to them, and believe them. Because chances are that’s something they rarely, if ever, get.

Rant: I'm depressed

My doctor started me out on 4 mg of estrodiol and I know thats a lot to start out on but I wanted the changes to happen asap. And they did. My body is changing and I am so grateful. I take 2 mg in the morning with my spiro and then another 2mg at night. I really can’t handle the emotions, especially after the second pill of the day. I’m crying myself to sleep every night and I feel so lonely and I’ve been a major bitch to all of my friends. And the headaches and hotflashes are crazy. Like sometimes i feel like passing out. And yesterday I ate two tubs of ice cream and four boxes of macaroni. That isn’t normal is it? Also when is my body hair going to go away? I am literally a gorilla. Also I really like this guy but he just uses me for sex and i keep doing it cause im hoping that maybe one day he’ll like me back and I feel more gross every time?

5

“I’ve just been, uh…thinking…a lot lately.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know…everything. Can I tell you something?”
“Shoot.”
“I like guys, and I like girls. Pretty much anyone in between. That’s probably not news to you. But you wanna know how I first found that out?”
“I dunno, do I?”
“It was my parents’ fault. Well…mostly my dad’s. He was always too hard on me. They sent me to bootcamp when I was 13. To discipline the bad out of me. My first kiss was with a boy there…Charlie. He was the only thing that made that place tolerable…he made it worse, too, though. Not him, but…the bullying, getting beat up for it…getting called every possible slur, every dehumanizing thing you can imagine. I called home most nights crying…cried myself to sleep. Always crying.”
“Santi…”
“Sometimes I still think that was the worst time in my life…but then…”
“What?”
“Hey, uh…where’s Fiona? Is she here?”
“No, she spends the weekends at my mother’s…why?”
“You wanna take a drive? Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.”

I really can’t handle it- I want to say the truth.
In this days I’m really feeling depresed, not depressed like for no reason
there is one but I don’t want to actually say it. I cry some times at the night when I can’t sleep, sometime I’m not ungry or when I eat I want to stop
when I look myself I feel disgusted
I feel a bad friend (and I am)
then there is a family problem (that I don’t want to say)
And I’m scared to do not make it in school.
I know that I have a beautiful life and I admit
I’m feel lucky, but I’m sick to repit that I’m fine. I’m dead inside and not in the funny way
In the real way
I can’t stop my tears some times I really can’t stop. I’m scared everytime (always for family things)
I think EVERYTIME that maybe my friends don’t love me even if they say “no no we love you” I swear the god I don’t know what is happening to me! I feel not loved I feel alone
when I don’t talk for days with someone I cry
I feel ignore
people don’t talk to me for days
I’m fucking sick to say “lets thinking positive”
and I feel fucking sad- I’m sorry for saying this stuff I know that maybe is “drama” ? But I really can’t handle it.

anonymous asked:

Is suicide ever ok? I know I know. It's a mortal sin. But what if you want to die every day. And can see nothing good in your life. And feel like a burden to everyone you know. And feel like you mess everything up, every. Single. Thing. And you cry yourself to sleep most nights because you feel just so awful. And you hate yourself. Not like, "oh darn I messed up! I hate myself sometimes. :p". You actually frickin hate every frickin thing about yourself. Is suicide ok then?

No, anon. Suicide is never okay.

Suicide is a sin because it removes us from the grace of God. It is the same as murder, just as grievous. Only the Lord can take and give life; not for us. Sin is whatever draws us further from God rather than closer to Him, and murder indeed does just that.

We all have a specific vocation we are called to fulfill. God grants us all a particular purpose in His world, a job that only we can do. It takes some people years, sometimes a lifetime, to figure out what that is. But your purpose has still been made for you, and only you. Each individual is a unique puzzle piece than can only fit in one spot, that no other person can ever correctly fill.

Suicide is a sin because it is denying your purpose in life. There is still so much more in the world, that spot in the jigsaw, waiting for you to fill it.

You’re going to feel differently. You’ll feel worthless, like there’s no possible way you could fill any important vocation. You’ll feel like it’d be so much easier to give up. But that is Satan, whispering in your ear to surrender. Say a prayer, kick him in the face, and tell him to go to hell, and keep going just to spite him.

The first way you can do that is to seek professional help. Suicidal thoughts and feelings are almost certainly a sign of chronic psychological illness. When you’re in a major car wreck, and break bones, do you not seek the professional guidance of a doctor to help you recover properly? A physical therapist to help you get back on your feet? A psychiatrist is the same, only the muscles they work with are the brain.

Call 1-800-273-8255, the national suicide hotline, if you are having these thoughts right now. I urge you to seek help immediately.

I’m praying for you right now. May God strengthen you in this fight. If my followers could please do the same. It might be the only way we can help, but we’ll get as many prayers for your spiritual aid as we can.

3

I need you to know that relationships can be as beautiful as the photos. Not 24/7, but a lot of the time, yes. I need you to know that you can’t wait around for the right person, but that you have to wake up and decide to be the right person. I need you to know that the world did not stop the first time I looked at him. I need you to know that the first time we kissed was such a disaster it belongs in a movie or a novel. I need you to know that it took months and months of caution and confusion and uncertainty for me to realize that this is not the man I always wanted, but better–the man I needed, and once I pulled back and realized the miracle of this man that was so far from who I imagined myself with, I fell deep and hard and fast. 

I need you to know that we have made each other angry, we have made each other cry, we have masterfully failed each other. I also need you to know that when nothing else feels right in my world, he can make me laugh so hard I have to beg him to let me take a breath. I need you to know that he lets me be the full, fierce, fiery woman that I am, and he’s never made me feel that I’m too much for him to handle. He has grown to make room for my fullness instead of staying stagnant and demanding I shrink myself. I need you to know that we are both fuller versions of ourselves when we’re together. I need you to know that we’ve sat in session after session peeling back the dusty layers of our family histories, fears, and expectations, and we have fallen in love even deeper through the exposure of these harsh gritty realities. That kind of love isn’t too photogenic, but I have to say that life is more beautiful this way, facing reality together rather than the prettiness of pseudo-togetherness. I have control issues, fears of abandonment, and the overwhelming need for adventure at all costs. He has to fight his natural proclivity to withdraw and withhold himself.

I need you to know that I’m living in a dream, he’s living in reality, and we force each other to see the world differently–more fully. I need you to know that sometimes I’m driving alone and I can hardly see the road because I’m crying about how in love I am. I also need you know that I have spent many nights crying myself to sleep thinking about having to leave the comfort of solitude I have made for myself–something I’ll be walking away from in January. I cry because I love change, and I cry because I hate it, too. 

I need you to know that in our premarital testing, we rated the highest scores of communication and conflict resolution that our therapist has ever seen for a couple our age. My point is not to brag–though it is deeply comforting–but to let you know that we have fought for those two things. Healthy relationships are not found–they are built. Happiness is not stumbled upon, but chosen. I need you to know that good love is messy and possible and worth it. I need you to know that relationships can be as beautiful–if not, even more beautiful than the photos. It is a matter of being self-aware, it is a matter of putting your expectations away and looking at the person in front of you and choosing to love them wholly with a genuine desire for them to be the best version of themselves, and the only way you can love them into that reality is to be the best version of yourself. 

I need you to know that.

No more tears (Gabriel x Reader)

Summary: You have an inabilty to cry, and you tell Gabriel the reason why.

Word count: 1544
Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of abusive boyfriend, abusive father, rape, violence and alcohol. Gabriel knows how to French braid.

Your name: submit What is this?



“You don’t seem that upset about it!” he shouted at you as a book fell from it’s shelf when he slammed his hand against it.
“Well, Dean, I’m sorry I can’t produce salty water in my eyes to prove it to you!” you screamed back at him and threw the book at him, but he ducked it. You gave an angry yell at nothing before you ran to the kitchen. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen out with anyone over your inability to cry. No one seemed to understand that tears weren’t the only way to express sadness or hurt. It wasn’t like you forced yourself not to cry, you just couldn’t, even if you tried. You hadn’t cried since you were seventeen.

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i.
i think sometimes people forget that heartbreak is not always sleepless nights and sobs wrenching from your throat in the most painful ways. driving my car with my foot on the gas trying to remember not to go into the guard rail feels more like heartbreaking than crying myself to sleep ever did.

ii.
my mom used to tell me that i really needed to learn to stop allowing people to become so intertwined into my veins. when you ripped yourself out and uprooted every grave i’d laid before you, i started to understand what she meant.

iii.
i spent three hours last night stitching up a hole in my favorite pair of leggings because i kept stabbing myself with the needle. i burned my dinner.

iv.
heartbreak doesn’t always hit like a hurricane and leave people standing on their rooftops trying to flag down the rescue helicopters. i think sometimes it comes in small showers that continue for a couple months at a time, so that by the time we notice the flooding, it’s too late.

v.
i guess that’s why i’m here ten months later still trying to explain why i was able to carry on when she dissolved into nothingness. heartbreak is spiderweb fractures, weakening the entire structure slowly. not a wrecking ball, destroying everything all at once.

—  five steps to realization (via @peyswrites)

anonymous asked:

sometimes i think about supercorp + for good and cry a little

supercorp wicked au is the reason i cry myself to sleep at night anyway

“i’ve heard it said
that people come into our lives for a reason
bringing something we must learn
and we are led to those who help us most to grow
if we let them, and we help them in return
well i don’t know if i believe that’s true
but i know i’m who i am today because i knew you

like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun
like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood
who can say if i’ve been changed for the better
but because i knew you
i have been changed for good”

sometimes i still cry myself to sleep at night because trump is president and he uses tragedies like in london and manchester to push his political agenda and make it about him, instead of trying to show solidarity and extending condolences. and even if he does manage to get distracted enough for someone else to tweet out words of support, too late, the damage is done and we already know how empty those words are anyway.